"How did we get here?" My sister asked that of me at Jason's funeral. I think what she meant was that we started with this beautiful, smart, funny, loving boy and ended at a funeral chapel before he was 26. Where did we fail him? How could things have gone so horribly wrong?
Christmas is a brutal time of year. The thoughts and memories I can successfully ignore during most of the year bombard me when I get out the ornaments that we made. Favorite decorations evoke scenes in my mind that are hard to push away. The usual distractions of socializing, work, reading, TV, whatever, are not effective and I've cried more secret tears than I have in months.
I try to replace the emotional thoughts with practical, logical ones. "Things weren't as rosy as you are remembering." "You don't know where/how he would be if he were still alive." "He's free now of the things that hurt him in life." All true but powerless to stop the longing just to see, touch, smell him.
During this year, I've lost some people very close to me, prompting me to question closely God's mercy. One after another, they died, quickly and unexpectedly. I shared my belief that God is omnipotent and omniscient, but I didn't understand His "higher ways" with the sister of my best friend, who died in September. She is a believer, but her response was, "Sometimes bad things just happen."
I suspect that was comforting to her, otherwise would she say it? But it made me feel like life was chaotic and out of control, like a train gone off the tracks.
If God is real, if He is our Maker and our Father, then things don't "just happen". The role of God dictates His planning and execution of the events in our lives. Our reactions to those events are controlled by our free will, but He is the author. This brings me to the conclusion that He must have a plan; He meant something good to come out of pain. Maybe I'm supposed to learn something. Another grieving friend said she didn't think she had learned anything for her loss, and that nothing good came from the death of a child.
I've recently become acquainted with another story of loss - the unexpected death of a young girl and the unbelievable strength and optimism displayed by the members of her family. While not mitigating their sorrow, I'm sure, they have been able to help others in their daughter's name.
Maybe that is something I can learn. I find that I don't look at people the same way I did before Jason's last years, the years he spent with the "outcasts" of our community. I'm drawn to the ones that need family. I'm driven to make a family for them. Not fulltime, not to exclude their real families, but to maybe fill in some gaps.
While walking with a co-worker the other day, we were laughing about our various infirmities - my feet, his knees, and I said, "I guess that's the price you pay for living." We don't get through this ride without injury. I want to make those wounds count for something.
Merry Christmas. Hug on the people God has put in your life and enjoy each little minute you can.
